Bury in Haste

by Jean Rowden

  ‘Yes, but …’ The constable hesitated. ‘Not the river, bodies have a way of coming back to the surface down at the weir. As for burying him … Sorry, sergeant, it’s not my place to criticise, but that’s a heck of a large assumption.’

  ‘It was a heck of a large haul, worth indulging in a bit of amateur grave-digging for,’ Jakes said. ‘Eighty thousand pounds in used notes, being delivered to the factory for wages.’

  Deepbriar let out a low whistle. ‘I didn’t realise it was that much.’

  ‘The villains chose the right week, it was more than double the normal amount, because staff had been putting money into a Christmas saving scheme, as well as getting paid their annual bonuses.’

  They carried on towards Belston police station through the darkening end of the afternoon.

  ‘Was there any hint that Rudge was involved?’ Deepbriar queried.

  ‘Plenty of them, but if he was behind it he’d covered his tracks pretty well, there was no evidence at all.’

  ‘What line of business is he in? Legitimately, I mean.’

  ‘Good question,’ Jakes said. ‘We know he’s owns half a dozen houses on the Burrow Road, and it’s said he’s involved in the motor trade. And transport of course, he’s supposed to be behind one of the big firms that do the run to London and the channel ports.’

  ‘I heard some of his men were stirring things up on the picket line during the strike. I suppose if that company was one of his rivals he wouldn’t mind seeing them in trouble. You think Rudge could be the man Pattridge was working for when he was doing these odd driving jobs?’ Deepbriar pondered.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Since he mentioned them to his girlfriend they were most likely legal, and she said that was in Falbrough, not Belston.’

  Deepbriar nodded and changed tack. ‘Didn’t I hear that the van delivering the payroll was sent at an unusual time, and by a different route that week?’

  ‘Yes, the bank manager cooked up the idea with Somerson,’ Jakes replied gloomily. ‘There were only supposed to be four people who knew about it, and one of them was the driver.’

  ‘He wasn’t suspected?’ Deepbriar asked.

  ‘He’d been with Somersons all his life and was about to retire with a generous pension, but he was so badly hurt in the attack that he didn’t live long to enjoy it.’ Jakes sighed. ‘The fools didn’t even send along a guard, they thought nobody would suspect the van was carrying that amount of money if the old man was alone.’

  ‘You say there was a fourth person in on the secret,’ Deepbriar said. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘The bank manager’s secretary. Everybody was pretty sure she must have been the one who gave the game away, but she was questioned by half a dozen different coppers and not one of them could shake her, she swore she hadn’t told a soul.’

  ‘But the gang were lying in wait, so they had to know the route,’ Deepbriar mused. ‘Maybe there was something that was missed at the time, somebody else who could have found out. Was there anything on paper? A map, or written instructions?’

  ‘No. And nobody could have overheard what they were talking about either, they met in Somerson’s office, and we checked it out, that building’s two hundred years old and the walls are solid stone, about a foot thick. Three floors up, and it wasn’t the day for the window cleaner.’

  Jakes turned in under the blue lamp that shone bright in the increasing gloom. ‘I don’t know that there’s ever been a case that left us with so little to go on.’ He stopped for a quick word with the desk sergeant then led the way to an empty room. ‘Right, let’s see what Mr Pattridge’s friends left behind. A bank wrapper or a Somerson’s envelope is probably asking a bit too much.’

  ‘Why not wish for an incriminating letter in Rudge’s own handwriting, while you’re at it,’ Deepbriar said, emptying the bag out on to the table, tipping it upside down and giving it a shake. It didn’t look a very exciting haul: a pair of worn shoes; three socks, all darned at toe and heel; a shirt with the collar missing; a pullover, thin and rather faded from much washing; a single cuff link in the shape of an anchor, with half the silver plating rubbed off, and an envelope addressed to Mr A Pattridge at 5 Alma Villas, Belston.

  ‘There, what did I say?’ Deepbriar offered the envelope to Jakes, but the sergeant motioned to him to open it.

  ‘From Hemming and Cole, Estate Agents and Valuers. “Dear Mr Pattridge,”’ he read aloud, ‘“Our representative, Mr Michaels, will be happy to meet you at 3 pm this Wednesday to discuss the purchase of Low Rooking Garage and attached cottage.”’ He checked the date. ‘A few days before the robbery,’ he said.

  Jakes whistled. ‘So Pattridge was thinking of buying himself a bit of property.’ He waved a hand over the items on the table. ‘It doesn’t look to me as if Mr Pattridge could afford a gallon of petrol, let alone a garage.’

  Deepbriar felt around in the bottom of the bag in case he’d missed anything, and pulled out a photograph, worn around the edges and with a crack across it, as if it had been folded and kept in a pocket or wallet. It was a picture he’d seen before, of two boys proudly holding their new watches, standing on either side of their father. On the back, written in pencil but hardly faded at all, as if the inscription was more recent than the picture, were the words ‘Happy days’.

  The Belston police station canteen was much larger than the one at Falbrough, but thanks to the flu epidemic it was almost empty when Deepbriar and Jakes walked in. A long-faced uniformed sergeant sat alone in one corner, while by the window two constables who looked as if the sum of their years would barely add up to Deepbriar’s age, were sharing a plate of sandwiches. Jakes went to the counter and ordered tea. Without consulting Deepbriar he bought two rather unappetising slices of fruit cake.

  ‘Hello, Ted,’ Jakes said, taking his tray to the table where the solitary sergeant was sitting. ‘This is Constable Deepbriar, from Minecliff. Constable, this is Ted Cosgough. He was desk sergeant at Northern End when I was as green as those two infants over by the window.’ He put the cake down in front of the man and drew out a chair, giving Deepbriar a nod of invitation to do the same. ‘Thought you might be getting peckish, Sarge.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The man stirred slightly and reached out for the first slice, dipping it into his almost empty mug of tea. ‘I could do with a refill.’

  Deepbriar took the hint and returned to the counter. The lugubrious sergeant had to be Jakes’s source of local information.

  They watched in silence as the man devoured both pieces of cake, dipping each mouthful in the fresh mug of tea. He then washed everything down with yet more tea, finally pushing the plate and mug away, and looking at Jakes. ‘I hear you’re searching for a missing man.’

  ‘Two,’ Jakes replied, with a rueful look at Deepbriar; evidently it was not the time to mention Tony Pattridge.

  ‘Nobody in Belston’s going to miss Joseph Spraggs much,’ Cosgough said, fishing in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes and a match.

  ‘Especially not Sylvester Rudge,’ Jakes agreed.

  ‘You heard that? When our chief inspector heard about Mrs Spraggs coming in and accusing Rudge of being involved he put out a few feelers, discreetly of course. It didn’t take long to find out Spraggs had made an enemy of Belston’s favourite businessman; they’d had a few words, but as far as anyone could tell that was as far as it had gone.’

  He paused, taking a long draw on the cigarette. ‘Anyway, if you really think it’s a murderer you’re after, it’s not Rudge’s style. Anyone who gets on the wrong side of him might be in danger of getting roughed up a bit, and one or two minor villains have left town in a bit of a hurry after he’s fallen out with them, but I never heard of any of his enemies doing a total vanishing act.’

  ‘There’s another reason why he doesn’t seem a likely suspect,’ Deepbriar said, and he explained about the prior disappearance of young Joe, who shared the name of the missing man, but had nothing else in common with him.

  Co
sgough shook his head. ‘That can’t have been Rudge’s chums,’ he said, ‘he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. They’d be nursing a few broken bones if they made a mistake like that.’

  ‘But who sets out to kidnap a man without knowing exactly what he looks like and where to find him?’ Jakes mused.

  ‘A contract killer,’ Deepbriar said, ‘if he was just given a name, and maybe the place where he could pick up the man’s scent. How about this? Joe Spraggs was making a delivery to Falbrough a few hours before he was abducted, and we know the older man, Joseph, was often in the Queen’s Head. Suppose young Joe went there for his lunch that day? Anybody asking for a man by the name of Joseph Spraggs might have had the wrong one pointed out to him.’

  ‘You’ve been reading too many of those American penny dreadfuls, constable,’ Cosgough said. ‘Contract killers? Come off it!’

  ‘So you think two men of the same name going missing within a few days of each other is a coincidence? That’s about as likely as an outbreak of flying pigs,’ Deepbriar replied, unabashed.

  ‘He’s got a point,’ Jakes said. ‘But let’s get back to Rudge. Mrs Spraggs says he threatened her husband, so he’s got to be our best suspect. Maybe the other Joseph Spraggs had also come up against Rudge in some way, and whoever was given the job of dishing out his comeuppance got the wrong man. Then when they picked up the right one, and he was supposed to just get a bit of a beating, perhaps he had a heart attack or something.’

  ‘Or they went a bit too far, killed him by mistake. Then they disposed of the body, and came up with this idea of packing a few of his clothes so everyone would think he’d left home.’ Deepbriar concluded.

  ‘Guesswork,’ Cosgough was disparaging. ‘You know better than that, lads, you haven’t got a single fact to hang a case on.’ He was silent for a moment, lighting another cigarette from the butt of the first. ‘Tell you one thing, though. If Rudge was involved, you can bet he was out of town at the time. And that he’ll have a cast-iron alibi.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  * * *

  There was a long drawn out silence at the table, as Jakes and Deepbriar considered what Cosgough had told them. ‘So maybe we should go and ask Mr Rudge where he was the first week of November,’ Jakes suggested at last.

  ‘Not a good idea,’ Cosgough said. ‘Rudge eats police officers below the rank of chief inspector for breakfast. But you’re in luck, as it happens I can tell you. It was the first thing we checked when Mrs Spraggs made her complaint. He was in London, seeing an old friend and getting his teeth fixed in Harley Street or some such place.’

  ‘Was he gone by Saturday the first?’ Deepbriar asked.

  ‘Took the evening train on the Friday,’ Cosgough said. ‘Which is one thing that suggests Rudge wasn’t in on it. Spraggs didn’t go missing until the following Thursday, and that’s the day Rudge came home, on the late train, the one that gets in at half-past nine. On past experience I wouldn’t expect him to run things that close.’

  ‘But young Joe did his vanishing act on the Saturday afternoon! You must admit, sergeant, it does seem to fit. I don’t suppose you know where Rudge was last Christmas?’ Deepbriar went on nonchalantly.

  Cosgough laughed. ‘You’re thinking of the Somerson case. He went in the opposite direction for that one. North of Scotland. Staying with posh friends at a castle. Lord and Lady whatnot, sheriff of the shire and Justice of the Peace or some such.’

  ‘What about the men who work for him?’ Jakes asked. ‘I’ve heard he always keeps a couple of strong-arm types close to hand.’

  ‘He didn’t take them to Scotland with him, but we couldn’t find anything that put them near Somerson’s van.’ Cosgough was suddenly thoughtful. ‘It seems they did go to London with him though. So if there was a mistake made, it’s just possible he was using an outsider, who didn’t know exactly who this Spraggs was.’

  ‘Or what he looked like,’ Deepbriar said. ‘Joe’s half Joseph’s age for a start.’

  ‘We were hoping you might be able to give us some idea about who he would have used, Ted,’ Jakes said. ‘Is there a list of his known associates?’

  ‘There’s nothing official,’ Cosgough replied, ‘Not with Rudge and the chief constable rubbing shoulders at functions every night of the week. Nobody would dare commit anything to paper. I can give you a few names. Spraggs was a minor player, and as far as we know he never worked directly for Rudge, but let’s see. Wilky Bright. He’s always hanging around. And Gordon Frith, though he’s inside now, doing time for assault.’

  ‘Wilky,’ Jakes said. ‘We heard about Wilky in connection with somebody else. Any more?’

  Cosgough dragged smoke deep into his lungs. ‘There’s one who fancies himself as a ladies’ man, always smartly dressed. He’s small fry, trying to muscle in on the big time; where Rudge is he’s usually not far away. I can’t think of his name. Berty is it? No, Barty, Barney. Barney Rimmer, or Simmonds … something like that. It’ll come to me, and when it does I’ll let you know.’ He pushed himself to his feet. ‘Nice talking to you lads, but I’ve got to get back to work. If you’re trying to finger Rudge for this business I wish you luck, he’s been running rings round the law for thirty years, I can’t see us stopping him now.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Jakes said, slumped back in his chair once Cosgough had gone. ‘It’s all nothing but guesswork. We need evidence.’ He looked at his watch and straightened suddenly. ‘And finding it will have to wait. I’m sorry, Thorny, but I’m off duty until Monday. My sister’s getting married tomorrow, and if I’m not at my Mum and Dad’s house by seven o’clock there’ll be hell to pay.’

  ‘What do you suggest I do?’ Deepbriar asked, following Jakes from the canteen. ‘Anything you want me to follow up?’

  ‘I still think Bronc is our best bet, if we could only find the old man’s body, that would give us a place to start. Did you get anywhere with getting permission to search the aerodrome?’

  ‘The only person who could tell me who holds the key was away until next Wednesday. According to the Ministry, the local police should know who it is,’ he added gloomily.

  ‘And that’s you.’ Jakes turned and grinned at him. ‘Ain’t life grand? I’ll see you at Falbrough on Monday morning, but until then you’re on your own. Only one piece of advice, Thorny, stay away from Rudge, we don’t want the chief constable on our backs.’

  It was barely daylight. Apart from the new layer of fallen leaves lying sodden in the mud, Wriggle’s yard looked very much as it had the day Deepbriar had gone there looking for young Joe; the gate stood open and the ancient lorry was parked facing the exit. At first glance the place was deserted, but as he leant his bike against the fence a metallic noise caught the constable’s attention and he walked around the Atkinson, to find Joe Spraggs picking up a piece of pipe to load into the back.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Deepbriar,’ the young man said. ‘You’re out and about early.’

  ‘Morning, Joe. Didn’t want to miss catching you,’ Deepbriar replied. ‘You know we’re looking into what happened to your Dad’s cousin, the other Joseph Spraggs.’

  ‘Yes. Do you really think he was supposed to be the one they carted off when they came here?’

  ‘It seems that way.’

  ‘Mum said his wife was frantic because nobody would listen to her. Emily’s still upset, she keeps going on about it. I suppose she’s imagining how she’d feel if I hadn’t turned up again.’ Joe frowned. ‘I’m glad the police are taking it seriously. I mean, Joseph’s one of the family, even if he is a bit of a black sheep.’

  ‘Actually the police at Belston had done a bit of asking around about Joseph Spraggs before his wife came to see me,’ Deepbriar said, ‘so they’d made a start. They should have told her. Not that they got very far, and we’re not doing much better, but at least we’re looking. That’s why I’m here, I need to ask you a question.’

  ‘Right you are.’ Joe heaved the last length of pipe into the lorry and slapped some fl
ecks of rust off his sleeves, then he turned to face Deepbriar. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘That other Saturday, the first of November. In the morning you made a delivery to Falbrough.’

  ‘That’s right. They’re building a new estate where the nursery used to be. Mr Wriggle got the contract to supply all the pipe work.’ He gestured at his load. ‘This is the last of it.’

  ‘As I recall, you’d taken a packed lunch with you. But did you by any chance go into the Queen’s Head? Maybe for a beer at lunch-time?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think I’ve ever been inside the Queen’s Head, not that I remember.’

  ‘Did you call in anywhere else that day? The post office, or a shop?’

  ‘No. I didn’t even stop at the transport café on the way to Gristlethorpe, like I usually would, because I didn’t want to be late for the show. Is that all you wanted to know?’

  ‘Yes, that was it.’ Deepbriar did his best to hide his disappointment; his theory about how the mix up over the two Joseph’s had occurred, had just been thoroughly demolished. ‘Thanks, Joe.’

  Deepbriar cycled homeward sunk in gloom. It didn’t look as if he had much talent when it came to detection. He had nothing to work on, he could only follow Jakes’s vague suggestion that he should continue looking for Bronc, but he’d be going over old ground and looking for a trail that was getting colder by the day.

  Back at the police house, Mary was busy in the office.

  ‘You weren’t gone long,’ she said, putting a file back on to a shelf.

  ‘No,’ he agreed absently.

  ‘I think I’m wasting my time here. Can’t you think who they might have given a key to? How about the Colonel, he’s a military man?’

  ‘I had already thought of that,’ Deepbriar replied. ‘I asked him yesterday.’

  ‘Bert Bunyard’s farm is nearest to the gate, but if he’d had a key he wouldn’t have had to break in through a hole in the fence,’ Mary remarked. ‘You know, I don’t believe they ever sent that letter telling you about it. Maybe the person at the ministry forgot.’